Robinson: The mothers who made me

I know it is sounds strange. But for some reason she has decided that my dog, Pablo, who does have fur by the way, needs a robe to lounge around in at home.

“Is the robe going to have a belt?” I jokingly asked.

“Well, how else is he going to close it?” she replied not cracking a smile.

Gotta love her.

On Mother’s Day, I thought it befitting to write about the three women who have influenced me in profound ways: My paternal grandmother, my maternal grandmother and my mommy (and yes, at 47, I still call my mother mommy).

My paternal grandmother, who will turn 101 in July, wanted to be an artist. However, during the time in which she lived, aspiring to make a living as a painter or sculptor, especially for a Black woman growing up in the South, was frowned upon.

So instead of being an artist in the traditional sense, she became a seamstress. She told me that becoming a seamstress was her way of creating art for people to wear.

At almost 101, she is still going strong, making dresses — and yes, even suits — for people in the community.

“How many sleeves are going to be on the robe?” I just had to ask.

“He has four legs; he gets four sleeves,” she said. “You don’t know much about dogs, do you?”

I guess not. But I’m pretty sure Pablo will look, um, fetching in his robe.

Interestingly enough, although my grandmother did not become the world-famous painter she envisioned, all of her great grandsons are talented artists. One of her great grandsons is so talented, that, at just 18 years old, his work has been featured in an art gallery.

My maternal grandmother was a phenomenal woman. After her divorce from my grandfather, she raised seven children on her own (two of whom she took in after her sister’s death). She even took in her ex-husband’s blind mother.

The one thing I remember most about my grandmother was her devotion to her family, to God and to those who were less fortunate.

For many, many years she worked as a Salvation Army volunteer in her hometown of Norristown, Pa. It was her devotion to the Salvation Army that prompted me to also become a Salvation Army volunteer.

When she died (on her 88th birthday, interestingly enough), officers and volunteers from the Salvation Army came out in full force and paid tribute to her at the service. I firmly believe that my grandmother’s kind heart and generous spirit is exemplified in the woman who inspires me the most — my mother.

It saddens me when I meet people who have dysfunctional or non-existent relationships with their mothers.

When I read stories about women who kill their children, or children who kill their mothers, I am grateful that I was blessed to have a mom whom I not only love, but I also like.

No, my mother didn’t try to be my friend when I was growing up. We didn’t exchange clothes or go clubbing together. She treated us all kindly. But there was no debating who was in charge, and there was no blurring of the lines between parent and child.

She spoke, I listened. I did what she said. Period.

I can honestly say that even though my mother didn’t try to be my friend when I was growing up, she is definitely one of my dearest friends now. I can talk to her about anything. She not only listens, but she also gives me her honest opinion, even when she doesn’t agree with me.

My mother is one of the kindest, most optimistic people I have ever encountered. My siblings and I often joke about how my mom will try to find the positive in everything, and every one.

Her motto is “Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day.”

She never ends a conversation with any of her children without saying, “I love you,” and “I’m proud of you.”

And on Mother’s Day, I want her to know that I love her too, and I’m proud she’s my Mommy.